


Get Your Skates On

by JulietsEmoPhase



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Ice Skating, Light Angst, M/M, Secret Santa, Sectumsempra Scars, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8961763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: Christmas Drarry!  When he and his friends return to school to complete their final year, Harry doesn’t expect such a strong sense of cheer and goodwill to permeate the student body.  But whilst everyone else is having fun, he notices a certain someone holding themselves back, and that just won’t do at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Secret Santa gift for Masya aka @mriaoora! Thank you for your awesome prompts: “Angsty, smut, 8th year, Harry and Draco with strong personalities, slowly growing attraction, NC-17″ 
> 
> I already had an idea in mind, and your requests fitted in perfectly. This was a pleasure to write, and I really hope you enjoy it too!
> 
> Thanks to Katie aka @enigmaticrose4 for the beta read and general support. Any mistakes left are my own!
> 
> Merry Christmas and lots of love,
> 
> Juliet xxx
> 
> (PS, I swear I wrote this before I became obsessed with Yuri On Ice!!!)

Get Your Skates On

  

   The winter of 1998 was particularly harsh.

   Harry wouldn’t have really expected anything else after the year they had endured, but it was still rather a shock as September slipped into October and temperatures in the Scottish Highlands plummeted, leaving the world blanketed in white for the foreseeable future. 

   Surprisingly though, as October became November, and the last of the repairs were finished on the school grounds, a determined air of cheer filled the halls.  The sparkling snow made everything so bright, and with ferocious Toasty Toe jinxes and Anti-Draught charms, corridors and classrooms became cosy despite the elements.  The returning student body rebounded after their anguishing year by embracing the upcoming festive season with gusto.  Before December had even shown its face, there were carols floating through the hallways, mince pies with every meal (including breakfast) and mistletoe lurking in the most unlikely of places.  

   Harry had been expecting the sombre, sorrowful melancholy of the summer to follow them into the darker months; after all they had lost, it seemed almost inevitable. 

   But that was before Seamus Finnigan. 

   Their second week into what had been dubbed the ‘Eighth Year’ for those students in Harry’s year wishing to complete their education after the disruption of Voldemort’s regime, the Irish Gryffindor had clambered up onto the table the Eighth Years all shared, and began bashing his spoon against his empty bowl until he had the attention of the entire dining hall.  “I’ve got something to say,” he’d stammered with firm resolve as everyone gawked up at him.

   Everyone except Dean Thomas that was, who at that moment decided he’d prefer to hide his head under his hands.

   “I’m a Gryffindor, and I’m supposed to be brave,” Seamus had continued, trembling as Harry and his friends had encouraged him as best they could with nods and thumbs up.  “But I’ve been too afraid to admit the truth for the last two years.  That stops today.”  He had looked down at Dean with such warmth, and in turn Dean had peeked from between his fingers and given him a weak smile.  “Because,” Seamus announced with a gulp, addressing the whole school again.  “I – I am _madly_ in love with my best friend, and after nearly losing him last year-” He had tripped on his words as tears had sprung to his eyes, but Dean had reached forward and touched his shin, giving him courage.  “After nearly losing him, I’ll not spend another day pretending otherwise.”  He had reached down to yank Dean up beside him, grinning like a madman as they’d faced each other, arm in arm.  “This here’s my boyfriend, and anyone that has a problem with that, can bloody well take it up with me.”

   “And me!” Ron had yelled, jumping to his feet, followed by several other Eighth Years as it seemed the whole hall burst into wild applause, and Seamus had snogged Dean right there and then. 

   After that Neville Longbottom had finally gotten up the courage to ask out Hannah Abbott with the most beautiful (any noisy) bunch of flowers Harry had ever seen.  Then Luna Lovegood had painted a portrait of Rolf Scamander outside the fourth floor transfiguration classroom, and it showed what a good match they were when, instead of freaking out like most people Harry knew would have, Rolf had added his own far inferior but lovingly drawn portrait of her next to his.  Flitch had moaned and grumbled very loudly about graffiti on school property, but yet, the artwork remained untouched as they made their way into Christmas. 

  The mistletoe hanging in every nook and cranny was being put through its paces, as it seemed that after so much grief and heartache, people were obviously coming to the conclusion that life was too bloody short and you should just snog who you wanted to snog. 

   Harry had thought it would have bothered him more than it did, seeing as he was newly single after all.  But it wasn’t that Ginny had broken his heart after their year apart; quite the opposite in fact.  She had been as stalwart a friend as she always had been.  But the horrors they had been through had changed them – they weren’t the same people they were before, and the attraction had faded away. 

   She was thoroughly enjoying some carefree time being single, flying every chance she could get and reconnecting with old friends.  She had even reached out to Cho Chang, and the two would often meet in Hogsmeade for tea.  Now Harry couldn’t help but find _that_ a little strange, but he forced himself to get over it, figuring they probably had better things to discuss than what it was like to date him. 

   So, despite the aftermath of the war, and the fact that everyone else seemed to be hooking up around him, Harry had to say he was approaching the end of the year with more hope and goodwill than he ever could have dreamed of. 

   And then, the great lake had frozen over. 

   It normally got pretty icy, but it was always only a matter of time before the giant squid got irritable and bashed several holes in the surface.  But not this year.  This year, it obviously had decided the people on the land had caused enough trouble, and it quite fancied some peace and quiet. 

   After the first couple of weeks without so much as a crack, Hagrid had done a thorough inspection and declared the lake perfectly safe, and after a few reinforcing and safety spells from other members of staff, the skates had come out. 

   Whenever Harry had gone skating at the pond near the Burrow during the Christmases he spent with the Weasleys, he had always used a battered old pair of boots one of the brothers had lent him.  But this year, as soon as he saw people stepping out onto the ice, he had excitedly transfigured one of his pairs of flip-flops into a sleek, shining pair of skates, and dashed out to join them. 

   Ice skating was sort of like flying, he felt.  Obviously, you didn’t go quite so fast, but there was far more chance of slipping over, and the danger made his heart race in a safe way.  It was also rather pleasant to do by yourself, just lost in your thoughts, enjoying the shrieks and hoots of other people having fun around you. 

   But he began to realise, not everyone was joining in the fun. 

   It seemed most of the school was out on the lake every chance they got; before, during and after school, and the evenings as well for the older students who were allowed a later curfew.  So naturally, not everyone could skate at the same time when it was especially busy, leaving some to sit on the side-lines, and some people just seemed to just enjoy watching. 

   Harry though, inevitably, was drawn to one head of blond hair from the edge that always seemed to be bowed and accompanied by a scowl as everyone else had a good time, and that person never seemed to be having any fun at all. 

   Draco Malfoy had been sent back to school on probation after his trial, under no illusion that he had to complete the year without causing any trouble, or he would be straight on his way to Azkaban to join his father.  Harry knew all this, because he had taken it upon himself to speak for both Malfoy and his mother at their hearings, and had argued for leniency given the great personal jeopardy they had both risked on his behalf.  After all their foolish schoolboy altercations, Harry couldn’t find it in him to hate his former rival any more. 

   Which is why maybe he was concerned that he looked so unhappy.  There was so much love and forgiveness in the air, that try as he might, he couldn’t seem to just let Malfoy suffer when he was obviously lonely and looking for company.

   “You coming Malfoy?” he asked casually one bright day in early December when the snow had finally stopped falling.  The Slytherin had been sitting on the bank once again, moodily reading and warming himself with regular flicks of his wand.  As Harry had made yet another circuit of the lake, he hadn’t paused to think, just scraped to a halt in front of him.

   Malfoy slowly looked up in apprehension and no small amount of horror.  “What?” he rasped. 

   “On the ice, fancy a spin?” Harry enquired in the same convivial tone, even though his heart had starting thumping loudly in his chest.  Which was ridiculous, given all the terrible things he had faced over the years.  Why on Earth was he losing his cool over talking to Malfoy of all things?

   Malfoy gaped at him for a moment, his smoky breath hanging in the air, before he apparently regained his senses.  “If I did, I would be doing it already,” he replied frostily.  “Do you imagine I sit around waiting for Gryffindors to invite me to social gatherings?  I shudder to think what sort of plebeian activities that might entail if I did.”

   Harry scoffed.  “Oh suit yourself you bloody snob,” he snapped back, and took off again.

   The next time he went around, Draco was gone. 

   But a few days later, he returned, looking out over the lake forlornly whenever his book lost his attention, and Harry frowned at him.  He didn’t speak to him this time, not feeling like being talked down to again, but the damnable Christmas spirit was getting to him.  Luna had knitted scarves for every single former member of Dumbledore’s army that was still at school, and Terry Boot had personally gone around adding tinsel to every single portrait the school held, no matter how big or small. 

   The Patil twins had open up a candy-gram booth with Lavender Brown, an idea they’d apparently got from Muggle films that involved delivering sweets to anyone you requested.  Harry had heard Lavender hadn’t wanted to take part initially, scared people would be repulsed by her werewolf scars, but as soon as they’d set up shop, she had been the first to receive most of the first dozen orders.

   It was hard to resist the positive vibes that were drifting around, especially with all the loved up couples snuggling together in the Eighth Year common room and holding hands between classes.  Harry could only clutch onto his animosity towards Malfoy for so long when everyone else was so happy, and he looked so miserable. 

   “Are you scared you won’t be as good as me?” he stage whispered as he followed him out of the castle the second Saturday of the month, and grinned cheekily as Malfoy had turned to him in confusion which quickly turned to a glare.  

   “Potter, what are you on about?” he demanded grouchily as he stomped down the stairs into the gently falling snow. 

   Harry thrust out his hands in front of them both, dangling his skates and the new pair he had transfigured out of slippers he no longer wanted, having been assured by Hermione he’d get new ones for Christmas anyway.  “It’s either that, or you don’t have skates, so you can borrow these if you like, they look like they’d fit.”

   Malfoy stopped and blinked at him as if he was an imbecile.  “What’s your obsession with getting me on that damn patch of ice?” he all but sneered. 

   Harry faltered, but he refused to back down.  Apparently, Pansy had told Lisa who had told Hermione that Malfoy used anger as a defence mechanism, and that he didn’t mean half the awful things he said at all.  Harry wondered why on Earth he would say them then, but that had just got a withering look from Hermione, so he’d decided to take her word for it. 

   He huffed and wiggled the spare skates in front of Malfoy.  “I’m sure you’ve just left your fancy ones at home or something,” he teased.  “So how about you take these for now, and we can see who’s fastest.”

   “Why?” Malfoy snapped, hugging his book to his chest and glowering. 

   “Because that’s what we do,” Harry said kindly.  “We compete against each other.  If we hadn’t been so horrid to one another, it might have been fun before.  But there’s no reason it couldn’t be now.”

   Malfoy licked his lips, and something odd shot up Harry’s spine.  He had no idea what it meant, so he shook his head and ignored it. 

   “But… _why?”_ Malfoy asked again.  “We’re not friends!”

   Harry shrugged.  “We could be, a fresh start and all that?”  He pushed the skates into Malfoy’s hands.  “Come on, I’m not really that great, I’m sure you’ll beat me easily.”

   Malfoy looked hopefully down at the skates, then up at Harry…before his face crumbled into a scowl and he shoved them back.  “Just forget it, alright?” he growled, and stalked off back towards the castle. 

   Harry frowned at the boots, until a thought struck him and he chased after Malfoy.

   “You can’t skate,” he whispered, quietly this time as he grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt in the entrance hall.  There were students milling around, and Malfoy hastily whipped his head back and forth to see if anyone was paying them attention, but nobody seemed to be listening in.

   “What?” he hissed, his face only a couple of inches away from Harry’s.  “Of course I can – don’t be – that’s just stupid.”

   Harry stared at him, his eyebrows slowly rising, not saying anything.

   Malfoy clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking this way and that, until he finally screwed up his eyes and his fists.  “Okay, _fine,”_ he lashed out, peeking from under one eyelid.  “I can’t skate, at all, I always fall on my arse.  Are you happy now, going to tell everyone?”

   He squeezed his eye shut again, avoiding Harry’s reaction.  So Harry did the most natural thing to get his attention, and rubbed his arm.

   His eyes flew back open, and Harry smiled.  “No,” he said patiently.  “Of course I’m not.”  Malfoy narrowed his eyes to show his disbelief, but Harry didn’t fold.  “Okay, take these,” he instructed, handing over the new skates for a second time.  “And meet me back here at ten o’clock.”

   “Tonight?” Malfoy spluttered. 

   “No, in a week’s time,” Harry mocked, rolling his eyes.  “Yes, tonight.  That way we can go out on the ice and no one will see us.”

   Malfoy shook his head, not understanding.  “To do what?  I told you, I can’t skate!”  He seemed to think Harry was making fun of him, so Harry treated him like he would Ron, and squeezed his shoulder in what he hoped what a comforting manner. 

   “So I can teach you, dummy,” he said fondly, then walked away before Malfoy could try and protest. 

 

***

 

   Harry was just beginning to think Malfoy might not show, when he came slinking around the corner of the main staircase.  He hadn’t been in the common room all evening, and Harry had worried that he’d pushed him too far.  But there he was, just as the clock struck ten, his hands in his coat pockets and the skates tied together and slung around his neck, looking shy. 

   Harry wanted to make him feel at ease, so punched his arm lightly.  “You excited?” he asked.

   “Not terribly,” Malfoy grumbled, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lip.

   Harry just grinned back.  “Come on,” he said, unconvinced, and escorted them both outside into the cold night air. 

   In the old days he would have used his invisibility cloak, but seeing as the Eighth Years had special privileges and weren’t hindered by an evening curfew, he didn’t see the point.  Plus, since finding out how incredibly valuable it was, he had been a little bit more careful about flashing it around.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Malfoy a bit more these days, but hardly anyone knew he had an actual _Deathly Hallow_ in his possession. 

   They made their way over to the lake in comfortable silence, and then sat on the frozen ground to swap their trainers (or leather boots in Malfoy’s case) for the skates.  The snow had really pelted down for a few hours over the afternoon, but it had stopped sometime around dinner, and now there was a calming stillness to the school grounds. 

   “Alright,” Harry said cheerfully as he stood and pushed onto the ice.  He slid a few feet, and then spun back around to face Malfoy and reach out his hands.

   _Draco,_ he suddenly corrected himself mentally.  If they were going to be out here, alone, in the middle of the night working on skating together, he might as well call him Draco. 

   “Alright what?” Draco asked, getting shakily to his feet like a new-born foal. 

   Harry wiggled his gloved fingers.  “Take my hands, and I’ll steer you to start with.”

   Draco snatched his hands to his chest like he’d been burned.  “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled.  The moon was huge and full, and Harry could see quite easily that colour had risen to his cheeks.  He sighed.  Draco may have changed a lot over these past several months, but it seemed he still had his pride.

   “It’s the easiest way to learn,” he explained, skating right to the edge of the lake and stretching his arms out encouragingly.  “Come on, it’s just us out here.”

   Draco scoffed, but he did at least venture a little closer.  “Yeah, just me and the saviour of the magical world,” he muttered.

   At that Harry did drop his hands, and fixed his new friend with a piercing glare.  “I’m just Harry, alright?” he said firmly, trying not to betray any of the irritation that ran so close to the surface when anyone tried to bring up that hero nonsense.  “This is what this year is all about,” he confessed, wanting Draco to understand.  “Just…being me.  No prophesies, or mysteries or dying.  Just homework and friends and maybe a bit of fun once in a while, if I’m lucky.” 

   Draco bit his lip, and looked him in the eye.  “Is this fun?” he asked tentatively.

   Something about his tone made Harry’s heart ache.  “Yes,” he assured him with a smile, and raised his hands again.  “It will be, if you actually get your arse onto the ice.”

   He was inordinately pleased when Draco cracked a weak laugh, and took a baby step closer.  “If I break my arm, Potter,” he growled playfully, finally placing his hands in Harry’s.  “I shall not be best impressed. 

   Harry tugged him sharply, making him gasp as he suddenly made contact with the ice, then gripped onto Harry’s hands for dear life.  Harry laughed wickedly.  “No one’s breaking anything,” he said, his heart picking up, but he refused to chicken out.  “And so long as we’re here, you should call me Harry.”

   That was enough to snap Draco’s petrified gaze up from his feet.  “Harry?” he squeaked.

   “See,” said Harry with a wink.  “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

   “The name or the ice?” he whimpered, and Harry smirked affectionately. 

   “Both,” he chuckled, then began skating very slowly backwards.  “Now slide your feet forwards, one after the other, in a V shape.”

   “You’re not doing that?” Draco protested as they got further onto the lake.

   Harry shook his head.  “That’s because I’m going backwards, just, do what I tell you, you little brat.”

   “I am neither a brat,” Draco shot back as he slowly tried to follow Harry’s instructions.  “Nor am I little.  May I point out that I am in fact taller than you?”

   Harry shrugged.  “Not by much,” he said nonchalantly. 

   Draco spluttered.  “By a good three inches,” he protested.

   That made Harry look up from where he’d been watching his footwork.  “Really?” he asked, knowing it full well to be true.

   Draco scowled and didn’t seem to notice that Harry was speeding them up, his anger distracting him from his fear.  “Of course Po-Harry.”  He looked shocked at his own use of the name, but Harry just grinned. 

   “Look, you’re doing it!” he cried, nodding down towards their feet.

   Draco did the same…and promptly tripped and almost fell over his own skates. 

   “Whoa there!” Harry laughed as he caught him.  “If you wanted to prove you were taller, you didn’t have to be so dramatic about it!” 

   Draco blinked at him, his eyes like liquid metal in the moonlight, and Harry suddenly found himself unable to look away.  He still had Draco in his arms, their faces right in front of one another, and he realised he had stopped breathing. 

   Now that was _really_ strange.

   Harry cleared his throat and helped them both get upright again.  “If you’re afraid of falling,” he said as they began to move again.  “You’ll never succeed.”

   Draco bit his lip and gave half a smile.  “That almost sounds wise, Harry,” he said as he allowed himself to be maneuvered once more.

   Harry chuckled.  “Oh shut up,” he said good naturedly.  “Right that’s it, pick up your feet…”

   And so the week went. 

   They would never arrive together, but every night, and ten o’clock, no matter the weather, Harry would find himself lacing up his skates by the side of the frozen pond in the company of Draco Malfoy. 

   He was a slow learner, but having got over his initial reservations he now appeared determined not to give in.  It had got to the stage where he no longer constantly needed Harry’s hand, which Harry found he regretted despite the fact he was pleased by the progress of his pupil.  It was comforting, having that regular physical contact with someone else.

   As he had grown older, Harry began to appreciate how touched starved he had been under the care, or lack thereof, of the Dursleys.  It wasn’t until he had joined school and made friends that he realised how deeply comforting the feeling of someone’s hand on your skin was, or even better, the reassurance of a warm embrace.

   If he was truly honest, it was what he missed most about the brief time he and Ginny had been together.  He liked to wrap his arms around her, and feel her tucked under his chin, the sensation of one heartbeat thumping in sync with another.  So when Draco began to need to hold onto him less and less, Harry wasn’t all that surprised that he still stayed close, shoulder to shoulder, ready to reach out and grab him whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

   Most nights were so cold they had to start off wearing gloves and hats and numerous layers under their coats to keep them warm.  But as they started to speed up and work their bodies more, they became free to shed their clothing, becoming freer and lighter.  It made Harry’s heart flip to see that fine blond hair whip in the air as they grew bolder, zipping around the edge of the lake, then venturing into the middle more, away from the safety of the bank. 

   Harry had never spent this much time talking with Draco before, despite knowing him for over seven years, but he was starting to think he never really knew him at all.  He was funny for one thing, his dry sense of humour and sarcasm continuously cracking Harry up now he was no longer afraid to wield it in front of him.  He was intelligent too, which Harry had sort of gleaned from their time on the ice, but more so from the Wednesday morning they had surprised everyone, including themselves, when they paired up in Potions for the assignment of the day.  Harry had watched on as Draco quietly got on with complex calculations, only interrupting him when he got too advanced and lost him. 

   They had paired up again on Friday too.

   Saturday had found them staying for much longer at lunch than normal as they’d got into a passionate debate over this season’s Quidditch line-ups, both in the professional league and at school, and a full two hours had passed before he realised they were the only Eighth Years still sat at the table. 

   Tuesday afternoon they did their Charms homework together.  Thursday they played chess, and Draco got very loud as he indignantly accused Harry of cheating, much to Harry’s delight.  Sunday they walked to Hogsmeade together to join a group of mutual friends for a roast dinner, sitting side by side as the evening drew in as they split a bottle of wine. 

   By the last Tuesday of the year, Harry realised he had spent the better part of a month almost exclusively with Draco.

   And still every night they skated.

   As he knew he would be, Harry was proud to say Draco was now utterly proficient.  Backwards, forwards, side to side, they traversed the ice without fear or hesitation, racing each other up and down the lake and daring one another on to increasingly higher leaps and spins and jumps. 

   By the time the final few days before the Christmas break rolled around, Harry realised that Draco made him _happy._   He missed him when they were apart, and was constantly thinking about what stories to tell him about his day when they were together again.  He knew he was going to feel his absence keenly once they went home for the break.  Harry still didn’t have an owl of his own, not willing to replace Hedwig just yet, and although there were always ones he could borrow it wouldn’t be the same, they would only be able to communicate every few days at best. 

   Which is why he found himself digging through his trunk on the penultimate day before they departed, searching for something in particular to share with Draco before they left. 

   They took to the ice as usual that night, but Harry could feel himself being quiet, nervous about what was to come.  He had stopped questioning the affect Draco’s presence had on him; he knew it wasn’t normal, but he didn’t really know what to do about it other than embrace it.  He liked spending time with him, he liked _him,_ so why should he fight it?  They had taken many opportunities to talk over the past few weeks about their unfortunate history, and it wasn’t like all was forgiven, but a great deal of water had passed under the bridge, and they were certainly making a lot of progress, so why shouldn’t Harry enjoy their new friendship?

   But he wasn’t sure how Draco was going to react to what Harry had to give him, or if he was making a much bigger deal of it than he should.  For all he knew, Draco wasn’t feeling half as melancholy as he was at the prospect of spending three weeks apart. 

   Draco must have sensed something was off though, as he suggested they call it a night earlier than they normally would have, claiming he still had some things to pack before the morning.  Having seen his highly organised room, Harry seriously doubted that, but he went along with the fib, grateful that it appeared Draco was being considerate for him. 

   By the time they reached the common room the tension was almost getting awkward between them, but Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts he couldn’t think what to say to break it.  Some of the Eighth Years were still milling about, but most of them had already turned in ahead of the day before them.  Nobody paid Harry and Draco any mind as they made their way into the corridor where both their rooms were situated. 

   “Um, well,” said Draco as they reached his door.  “Goodnight then?”

   “Hang on,” Harry blurted, going to grab his arm, then thinking better of it.  “I, uh, well, I have – it’s not exactly a present, but, it’s something for you?”

   His cheeks felt hot, and he wished he didn’t sound like such an idiot, but Draco’s grey eyes just went wide and he gave a tentative smile.  “Okay then,” he said, and to Harry’s surprise, he _did_ reach out, and touch his elbow.  It was only brief, but it made Harry wish he hadn’t withdrawn his own hand before. 

   “Uh, sure,” he said, nodding and leading the way into his own room several doors down. 

   As the door shut behind them, Harry became acutely aware of how alone they were.  Despite all the time they had been spending together recently, he was still feeling fractious at the fact it was just the two of them, with nobody else around at all.  _Anything could happen,_ he thought.  To which his brain immediately and indignantly spluttered, _like what!?_   But he found he didn’t have an answer. 

   Instead, he felt Draco’s eyes on him as he dropped his skates at the end of his bed and went to his bedside drawer to pull it open, quickly retrieving the pair of mirrors that he had stashed there.

   “My godfather gave me these,” he said thickly, unexpectedly emotional all of a sudden.  “Before he died.” 

   As buoyant and jovial the past term had been, it wasn’t all that easy to forget the atmosphere had been achieved through sheer force of will.  People were spreading cheer and goodwill, because there was so much grief underlying everything they did.  Harry had lost _so many_ people in his life, and Sirius was just one in the long list of loved ones he missed every single day. 

   The mirrors were one of the only things he still had left from Sirius, one of the only gifts he had been able to give him, not that he had been able to use them in time of course.  They were precious.  What was he thinking, offering one to Draco Malfoy?  Draco’s father had been one of the ones _attacking_ them at the Ministry when Sirius had fallen through the veil.  How much did he really know about him?  This was foolish, he should just-

   He hadn’t realised two, single teardrops had made their way down to his chin, until Draco’s hands reached out, and cupped Harry’s own.  “Are you okay?” he asked, snapping him out of his abrupt funk.  His voice so transformed from the boy that had tormented him for years.  It was raw with concern, and Harry felt himself lean just a fraction closer to him. 

   “Yes,” he whispered.  Draco was his friend now, and he knew enough to understand he’d come to care deeply for him, as complicated as that was.  He didn’t want to be separated from him, not for even a day.

   He held the mirrors in one hand, then used the back of the other to wipe his face under his glasses.

   “Sorry,” he chuckled, feeling sheepish, then cleared his throat.  “These belonged to my godfather, he gave them to me so we could stay in touch.  I – I thought maybe, if you wanted?  You could take one?  And that way, we could still talk every day?” 

   Draco didn’t say anything.  Harry just watched as he slowly brought his hands up, wrapping his long, pale fingers tentatively around the frame of the mirror Harry was holding out, and gently taking it in his own grasp.  He just stared at its reflection, his eyes glassy, and his jaw tight.  Harry was starting to worry he had made a mistake. 

  “We don’t have to,” he said nervously, a slight tremble to his voice.  “I just thought it might be nice, after all the time we’ve spent toge-”

   _Whumph!_

Harry hardly had a chance to register that Draco’s lips had suddenly crashed into his, before he jerked away again, absolute horror pulling his face taut. “Wha-” Harry managed in utter confusion, but Draco was already stepping backwards, the mirror clutched to his chest as he shook his head frantically. 

   “Sorry!” he spluttered.  “Sorry!  I – I’m so sorry, please don’t, please-!”

   He fumbled for the door handle and staggered out into the corridor, finally propelling Harry into action.  “Hang on, wait!” he called, reaching out with his free hand, but Draco had already run off, back in the direction of his own room. 

   Harry brought his hand back in, placing his fingers lightly onto his lips.  Draco had kissed him.  Draco had _kissed him._

   And it had felt perfect. 

   Suddenly, a lot about the past few weeks, and indeed, the past several years, made a whole lot more sense. 

   Harry was attracted to Draco.  And it appeared the feeling was mutual.  Wow.  Who would have guessed?

   Well, he wasn’t going to progress forwards from this revelation by just standing there like an idiot, he realised.  His feet finally woke up, and once he had dropped the mirror on his bed he shot out of his room, shutting the door behind him and marching down to Draco’s room.  He stood facing the closed door for a second, his pulse racing, before he lifted his hand and wrapped his knuckles firmly on the wood.

   “Draco?” he said, not too loudly in case he woke any of the other students, as that would be rude, but also the last thing he wanted was to be interrupted.  “Draco, it’s me.  Please can I come in?”

   There was a pause, and Harry held his breath.  _“Go away,”_ hissed through the door. 

   Harry’s heart sank, but he wasn’t about to give up.  He had finally unravelled a multitude of conundrums that had been bothering him, and he needed Draco to know he was freaking out over nothing.

   “Not going to happen,” he gritted out.  “Now, are you going to let me in, or am I going to have to force my way through?”

   Again, he waited.  Except this time, the door clicked, and swung open just an inch or so.  Harry grinned. 

   Cautiously, he crept into the dark room, lit only by the moonlight shining through the window whose curtains had not been drawn.  He closed the door behind him, then leant against it, his palms flat against the wood as he took in Draco standing several feet away, hugging himself and staring determinedly at the floor.  The mirror had been placed on the chest of drawers.   

   “Hi,” Harry said quietly. 

   Draco took a shaky breath, and screwed his eyes shut.  Harry was reminded of his first time on the ice, when he’d been too scared to look.  “Go on then,” he said, his voice flat. 

   Harry paused to lick his lips.  “Go on, what?” he asked genuinely. 

   Draco’s shook his head, and Harry could make out the glistening tear tracks on his cheeks.  “Tell me how disgusted you are.  Shout at me, let the whole school know I’m a sick pervert.”

   Harry’s eyebrows shot up.  “Are you serious?” he rasped.  “You think being gay makes you a pervert?”

   “No,” he spat scornfully.  “Of course not, don’t be such a Muggle.”  Harry flinched at the insult, but decided now was not the time to hash out old prejudices.  Hermione said he would go for the low blow when he was feeling at his most vulnerable.  They could deal with that later.  “But…” he carried on, his words thick as more tears flowed from his screwed up eyes.  “Being in love with the guy whose life you’ve made hell, who is a million times too good for you.  That…that’s pretty fucked up.”

   Love.  That was an enormous word right there.  Harry wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but…maybe…yeah, maybe it could be that one day?

   “How long?” he said, still not moving from his spot by the door. 

   Draco sniffed, and took a moment to scrub at his face.  “I don’t know,” he croaked.  “Probably forever.  I guess, maybe I figured it out a couple of years ago?  It only made things worse.”  He took a deep, wet breath, and finally opened his eyes.  But not to look at Harry.  Instead, he picked up the mirror, and held it out to him, eyes trained once again on the floor.  “You can have this back.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it.”

   Slowly, Harry pushed himself off of the door and walked towards him, taking his time so as not to spook him.  As he reached him, he carefully wrapped his fingers around the frame, much the same way Draco had done back in his room, but rather than take it, he gently pushed it against Draco’s chest.  The movement caused him to finally look up at Harry.

   “I don’t want it back,” he told him. 

   “But,” said Draco, his brow creasing.  “Why…”

   “I told you,” Harry said, keeping one hand connected with Draco’s as they held the mirror.  The other, he brushed his fringe away where it had fallen into his eyes.  His blond hair was so soft, Harry couldn’t help but stroke his fingertips against it a little, before cupping the side of Draco’s jaw.  “I don’t want to be apart.  I want to be able to talk to you all the time, every day.  Like we do now.”

   Draco merely stared, dumbfounded at him for a good minute or so.  “I don’t understand,” he said eventually, his voice cracking pitifully. 

   “I like you Draco,” Harry said, holding his gaze even though his insides were writhing with nerves.  “I know it’s complicated, after everything we’ve been through, _very_ complicated.  But, if you strip all that away…I like you.  A lot.”

   Once more, Draco just looked at him, scrutinising him and his words, until he could form a response himself.  “So,” he uttered.  “You’re not angry I kissed you?”

   Without speaking, Harry prised the mirror away from Draco’s grasp, and placed it carefully back on the drawers.  Now there was nothing between them, he stepped closer, curling the hand at his jaw around the back of his head, and planting the other one on his hip under his coat.  “No,” he said softly.  “I’m not.  But it was very fast.  I’d really like to try again?”

   Draco swallowed, trembling, but he didn’t drop Harry’s gaze.  “Okay,” he whispered with a nod. 

   Fire seemed to seer through Harry’s blood as he leant in and touched their mouths gently together, electricity practically jumping between them at the contact.  Almost immediately their lips began to move, their tongues slipping out to intensify the kiss, and Harry moaned.  Like before, he knew this just felt _right._

   But all too soon Draco broke away, hovering only an inch or so away so Harry could feel his breath panting on his skin.  “What are we doing?” he murmured almost inaudibly. 

   Harry shook his head.  “I’m not sure,” he admitted truthfully.  “But, maybe we can figure it out together?”

   Draco shook his head though.  “You’re making a mistake,” he insisted, and Harry felt his heart physically ache. 

   “Can’t I be the judge of that?”

   Draco rested their foreheads together, and they naturally closed their eyes, their breaths seemingly filling the whole room.  “I’m not good enough for you.”

   Harry rubbed his thumb through Draco’s hair.  “I say you are.  I say we deserve to give this a try.”

   They were closer together now, chest to chest, and Harry cursed the bulky coats they both still had on.  “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” Draco whispered. 

  “If you’re afraid of falling,” Harry said, repeating his words from the pond, a smile creeping onto his face.  “You’ll never succeed.” 

   Draco laughed.  It was wet and shaky, but it was a laugh.  “I fell for you a bloody long time ago, Harry Potter,” he said ruefully, pulling back so he could look into his eyes. 

   Harry cupped his face with both his hands, and was rewarded with Draco’s hands coming to rest on his waist.  “So how about giving me a chance to fall for you?”

   Draco answered by leaning in for another kiss, but this one contained far more fervour, the desperation from both boys becoming clear very quickly.  Harry’s hands dropped to the buttons of Draco’s coat. 

   “Can we,” he began, breaking off with a laugh.  “Can we get a bit more comfortable?”

   It was easiest for them both to hastily shirk their own coats off, but as soon as Draco was down to his soft cashmere jumper, Harry’s hands were back on him, running over his body as if he meant to memorise it.  He probably did, but he wasn’t thinking in any particularly linear way in that moment.

   Draco began walking backwards, until he hit the bed and he tumbled down onto it, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him along too.  Harry couldn’t help but giggle as they scrambled and repositioned themselves side by side, but he couldn’t say he cared. 

   Draco’s lips were soft and hungry and it wasn’t long before they were devouring Harry’s mouth again, snatching the breath from his lungs.  When his cold fingers slid under Harry’s t-shirt, he couldn’t help but jump and gasp, but when Draco made to pull away he grabbed his elbow and urged him to continue.  “That feels nice,” he admitted shyly. 

   “Yeah?” Draco asked, uncertainty clear in his voice.  “I’ve not…done this before.”

   Harry squirmed so they were even closer, their legs entwined, and tentatively ran his own fingers at the point where Draco’s jumper met his trousers.  “Me neither,” he admitted.  “We can do whatever you want though, I’m not afraid.”

   Harry meant that, but then he wasn’t exactly sure of what two guys did in bed together, it wasn’t like he’d particularly realised he was bisexual until this awakening just now or had the chance to look it up.  But Draco was becoming bolder, and rolled Harry onto his back so he could straddle him.

   “I just want to touch you,” he said between open-mouthed kisses along his neck that made Harry moan again. 

   “Hang on,” he said, a flare of embarrassment shooting through him.  He pulled his wand from his back pocket to quickly lock the door and cast a silencing charm.  He then dropped the wand on the drawers next to the mirror, and yanked Draco back to him.  “I’m all yours.”

   Draco growled.

   He growled.

   As they kissed urgently, he pushed Harry’s t-shirt up until it was above his nipples, and Harry broke away for just a second to get rid of the thing and throw it on the floor.  Draco took the opportunity to do the same with his jumper, and then they were skin to skin, making Harry practically whimper with how good it felt. 

   He glanced down to admire Draco’s lean torso, then froze at what he saw, the heat from his veins turning cold as ice. 

   “What?” Draco asked, concerned.

   Harry didn’t know what to say though, so he took a shaking hand, and lowered it to run against the top of the pink, raised scar that interested Draco’s pale chest.

   He tensed immediately. 

   “I did this,” Harry rasped, knowing it to be true.  “I hurt you.”

   Draco’s hand closed over his own, and tugged it down and away.  “Only because I was trying to hurt you first,” he said firmly.  “I remember, you had no idea what the spell did, you weren’t trying to kill me.”

   Harry managed to tear his eyes away from the sight, and as he raised them to address Draco he realised they were filled with tears.  “But I _almost_ killed you,” he argued.

   Draco though just pursed his lips, and rolled over so they were side by side again.  “Harry,” he said with determination.  “That one doesn’t bother me, it really doesn’t.  It’s something that just happened between us.  It was bad, but, I guess, now we get a chance to make new memories around it, don’t we?”

   He took Harry’s hand and placed it on the part of the scar that ran over his heart.  Harry could feel how hard and fast it was thumping, how hot Draco’s skin was compared to before.  “I suppose,” he said, but he still felt horribly guilty.  He had _mutilated_ the boy he thought he was falling in love with.  “How can you possibly forgive me?”

   Draco leant over, and kissed him softly.  “I already have,” he said seriously.  “Besides, _this_ is the thing I hate the most.”  He raised his left arm, and brandished the faded dark mark that still blemished his skin.  “I did this to myself,” he said sadly. 

   Harry shifted onto his side so he could reach over and cradle the arm himself and study the tattoo.  He knew enough now Draco had never really wanted to join the Death Eaters, not after he saw what they truly were, but he’d been left with little choice.  His and his parents’ lives had been under threat, and he’d done what he thought was best to save them all.  “Did it hurt?” he asked, tracing his fingers over the ink. 

   “It was excruciating,” Draco murmured, and Harry wrapped him in his arms.  “And now I’m stuck with it forever,” he stammered into Harry’s neck.  “It’s all anyone will ever see.” 

   “It’s not all _I_ see,” Harry assured him.  “Draco you’re so much more than that, and you have your whole life ahead of you to prove that.”  He added silently to himself that he quite liked the idea of being there with him for that, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say anything so bold out loud.  It was early days for them yet, the very beginning even, but still.  He could visualise it. 

   “Thank you,” Draco said, rubbing his thumb against Harry’s clavicle. 

   Harry was content to lie and cuddle for a little while, his hands roaming over Draco’s back and sides.  “Have you ever thought about getting it covered up?”

   He felt Draco frown and then look up at him.  “What do you mean?”

   He shrugged.  “Well, I know wizards think tattoos are something only criminals have, but Muggles think they’re pretty cool, the younger ones at least.  You could get someone to design something over it?”

   Draco physically flinched and shook his head.  “No, I’m not going through that again, no way-”

   “Hey, hey,” Harry cried, calming him and drawing him back into their embrace.  “Muggle ones don’t hurt like that, I promise.  I talked a lot with Ron’s brother Charlie about it, he’s got loads.”  He bit his lip, and decided to admit something he’d not told anyone yet.  “Actually, I was thinking of getting something done myself.”

   Draco frowned and looked at him with serious consideration.  “You’d want one?” he asked.

   Harry shrugged.  “No idea what yet, but maybe something to remember my parents by, and the other people I’ve lost.  Nothing macabre,” he added hastily.  “Something beautiful, so I can think of them and maybe focus on the good times, the happy memories.”

   Draco frowned.  “I could get something like that, I guess,” he said, half a smile twitching at the corner of his well kissed lips. 

   “We could maybe go together,” Harry suggested, then his insides ran cold with horror.  “I mean, we could talk about it, and I don’t mean matching ones or anything, that would be weird, and clingy, and did I mention weird?”

   Draco though was laughing, properly laughing.  “You are such a numpty,” he chuckled, rolling back on top of him and kissing him sweetly and tenderly.  “But…I like that idea.  It’s something we could maybe talk about?”

   Harry nodded with relief and blossoming happiness.  It made him feel like they were making cautious plans for the future, and that warmed his heart.  “I’d like that,” he promised. 

   Their kisses began to intensify again, and Harry undulated his body against Draco’s pinned on top of him.  He was becoming increasingly aware of the hardness he could feel pressed against his thigh, and his own groin wasn’t exactly being subtle.  He panted as Draco took his kisses and started gracing them over his chest, his fingers skirting over Harry’s skin leaving blazing hot trails of desire.  As his lips closed over one of Harry’s nipples and sucked, he grunted extremely inelegantly as the sensation went directly to his crotch. 

   “Draco,” he murmured, just because he could, running his hands through his hair and petting at his back. 

   Draco made his way back up, his hands hovering over the fly of Harry’s jeans as he looked him in the eye.  “I want more,” he said hesitantly, but Harry nodded, his own hands moving down to help.

   He was sure that couples with a little more experience knew how to do this in a much more romantic way, but as it turned out they each just tackled their own clothes again, kicking their legs free until they were entwined again in nothing but their boxer shorts.  Harry had even taken his glasses off and placed them by his wand.  He didn’t want to damage them or for them to get in their way, and when they were this close he found he could see Draco just fine. 

   There was absolutely no denying their erections now as they rocked together, their bodies perfectly interconnected as they kissed.  Harry was making incoherent noises as they rubbed against each other, but then again, so was Draco.  He felt so good he was sure he was going to come soon, he could feel the orgasm building from his belly.  But Draco had other ideas, and forced his hand between them, slipping under Harry’s underwear and gripping his cock tightly.

   Harry buckled and cried out. 

   “I’ve wanted to feel you for such a long time,” Draco said hoarsely, and Harry couldn’t agree more. 

   He scrambled between them, and together they both shoved the boxers downwards to their thighs, and brought their throbbing arousals into contact, making them both gasp and wail. 

   It was uncoordinated and frantic to start with, but then they found a rhythm, and suddenly, they were flying, gliding as one.  “Yes,” Harry was rambling.  “Yes, yes, _yes.”_

   “Don’t stop,” Draco begged.  “Don’t, please…”  Harry had no intention of doing any such thing though as he felt his pleasure cresting. 

   “I can’t,” he cried, tears in his eyes.  “Going to – Draco?”

   “I’m here,” he ground out between his teeth.  “Almost – _almost.”_   He arched his back, and Harry felt himself explode as their stomachs became slick with their combined cum.  Draco groaned and collapsed on top of him, gathering him up in his arms.  “Salazar,” he breathed out. 

   Harry felt like he’d been hit by a bus, but he was also sticky when he very much just wanted to focus on snuggling, so he reached over for his wand and vanished the mess.  “Come here,” he mumbled, encouraging Draco to him again as they pulled their boxers back up and wriggled to untuck the blankets so they could slip underneath them. 

   As they lay there, their heartbeats slowing, Harry thought of Draco that first day on the ice, so scared and unsure, and how they had learned to move as one there too.  He smiled and stroked Draco’s hair, placing a reverent kiss on his damp forehead.  “That was amazing,” he said as they cuddled under the duvet. 

   “You’re amazing,” Draco said sleepily, yawning and kissing Harry’s cheek.  It was such a sweet, innocent gesture, Harry found himself choking up a little. 

   “So,” he said once he’d got a hold of himself, wanting to ask before Draco fell asleep.  “Does that mean you’ll talk to me on the mirrors whist we’re away?”  It seemed a silly thing to ask after what they had just shared together, but he had to know.

   Draco turned his head to blink sleepily at him.  “Only if you’ll come visit me?” he asked.  “You could come for New Year’s Eve, if you like?”

   Warmth flooded Harry’s chest, and he placed a chaste kiss on his lover’s lips.  “I’d very much like that,” he said.

   His final thought as he drifted off to sleep, safe and secure in the arms of the boy he’d come to care very deeply for, was that he could never have hoped for his year to end with such joy and happiness.

   And for that, he was grateful. 

  

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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